


It's a Metaphor!

by amclove



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Bisexual Roger, Other, i stan their friendship, i wrote this just now, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 05:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: He tried to tell him. Brian can be thick sometimes.





	It's a Metaphor!

    “You know, I put my heart and soul into that fucking song,” Roger tells the boys. He’s wielding a knife and John is hoping that Roger isn’t planning to do anything with it aside from cut the bread for their toast.

    “I assure you, Roger, _no one_ is disputing that,” he assures his friend.

    “And you don’t like it,” Roger goes on like John hadn’t spoken, “because you want _your_ songs on the album!”

    “It’s not that at all, Roger,” the bassist denies with infinite patience.

    “Then what is it?” Roger demands.

    Brian drops his fingers from where they had been rubbing his temple. “‘I’m in love with my car’?” All John can manage is a grimace at the reminder of Roger’s chosen song title. “Maybe it’s not strong enough?” Brian suggests.

    “What’s that even mean, ‘not strong enough’?” Roger echoes, just as Freddie enters the kitchen with a, “Sorry I’m late, boys. What’d I miss?”

    “Riveting discussion of Roger’s car song,” John supplies, and Freddie, of course aware of the ongoing debate, smirks a little.

    “Is it strong enough, that’s all I’m asking,” Brian says, hands in the air like Roger’s pointed a loaded gun at his head. “If I’m on my own here, then I apologise.”

    “How does your new song go, then?” Roger asks and snatches Brian’s music off the counter. Freddie opens his mouth to intervene but the drummer has already begun.

     “‘You call me sweet like I’m some kind of _cheese_ ’!” he recites, disbelieving. “Fucking poetry, that!”

    “It’s good,” Brian says after a moment’s hesitation in which John stuffs his mouth with sausage to avoid answering.

    “ _Wow_.”

    “Oh, is that—” Brian looks back to Roger’s lyrics. “When my hand’s on your grease gun,’ Roger, really?” John and Freddie openly grin at this. The other two’s ridiculous argument, on top of Roger’s words, was making it quite difficult to focus on breakfast and mind their own. “That’s very subtle, isn’t it?”

    “It’s a _metaphor_ , Brian!”

    “It’s just a bit weird, Roger,” John admits. “I mean, what exactly are you doing with that car?” Beside him, Brian pulls a face like John has just proven his point exactly, while Roger’s reddens.

    “Children, please,” Freddie speaks up then. “We could all gladly murder each other, but then who would be left to record this album?”

    “You know, statistically speaking, most bands don’t fail—they break up.”

    “John, why the hell would you say something like that?” Freddie questions, eyebrows drawn. John shrugs and returns to his meal. Freddie shakes his head and turns to the main issue at hand. “Roger, look now, there’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen—”

    “You know why you’re angry, Roger?” Brian interjects as Freddie, rolling his eyes, takes his leave.

    “Why?”

    “Because _you_ know your song isn’t strong enough.”

    Roger considers this, then scrunches the raw bacon from the pan into his hand and tosses it Brian’s way. It falls off the vegetarian's chest onto the floor.

    “How’s that then?” Roger shouts. “Is that strong enough?” In one quick swipe, he’s knocked everything set on the counter before John and Brian shattered onto the floor. “What about that?”

    The boys had been sat in silence, but when Roger lifts the coffee machine into the air like a weapon they yell in harried unison, “ _Not_ the coffee machine!”

    Roger drops the appliance back down and, face pink, disappears from the kitchen. John glances at Brian, who raises his eyebrows.

    “Don’t look at me,” John says. “I’ve got a destroyed kitchen to clean up, haven’t I?” Brian rolls his eyes and pushes off the bar-stool to seek out Roger, wrinkled sheet-music folded into his back pocket.

    He walks around the house, slender arms crossed over his chest as he calls for his friend. “This isn’t funny anymore, Roger; Freddie’s waiting in the studio! Rog', come on.” He hears a faint noise that sounds suspiciously like “Fuck you” come from their lead singer’s room, and he pauses. Brian steps through the doorway and faces the closet. “Roger, you in there?”

    “Bugger off.”

    “Don’t be a twat now, Rog'; I didn’t mean to hurt your _feelings_ —”

    The closet door opens to reveal Roger. “Oh, didn’t you?”

    “No!” Brian says, like it were obvious. “Honestly, I just gave my opinion!”

    “You think you’re such a genius, Brian. Jesus. You read my lyrics, what? One time and you’ve decided it’s not fucking ‘strong enough’ for the album?”

    Brian squints. “You’ve quite literally summed up the past twenty minutes.”

    “Wow,” Roger says in an echo of his earlier sentiment.

    “It doesn’t take a genius, Roger, to see that your song has absolutely no depth!” Brian points out. “All it says is you’ve spent too much time in the damn garage!”

    “Give them to me.”

    “What?”

    “Give me the papers; I’m sure you’ve got them on you.” Brian hands over the music and waits as Roger rubs a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he says again. “Are you actually blind, Brian? ‘The machine of a dream,’” he reads. Brian makes a face to show that he isn’t catching on. “‘I told my girl I have to forget her, I’d rather buy a new carburettor’?”

    “Give it to me in plain bloody English, Rog.”

    “‘With my hand on your grease gun, it’s like a disease’!”

    “Roger, I know the lyrics!”

    “No, you don’t.” Roger shakes his head, an un-amused smirk pulling at his mouth. “Brian, you may be intelligent, but you’re a bloody imbecile when you care to be. Can’t you see this song is about _me_?”

    “Roger,” Brian states, by now desperate to understand, “what the _hell_ are you on about?”

    “I’m not just into women, Brian,” he finally erupts. As though the sentence took all his energy, Roger drops so that he is sitting on the carpeted closet floor. “Fuck me. This _entire bleeding song_ is a metaphor for it.”

    Brian blinks once, twice. “Rog', I didn’t think you meant…”

    “I did, you prick.” He drops his head into his palms and Brian slowly crouches down to be level with him.

    “That isn’t so big a deal, is it, then?” he asks quietly.

    Roger looks at him, eyes red. “What?”

    “Liking men as well. If that’s what you mean. Being, you know, attracted to them.” Brian hates that he sounds so unsure, but he’s truly at a loss. “You aren’t exactly some special case, Roger,” he manages, truthful.

    “I bloody know that much,” Roger says snappishly. “But I’m Roger fucking Taylor, woman-killer. Wanting to shag a guy isn’t what I’d call keeping up with my M.O.”

    “Oh, Roger, that doesn’t bloody matter to anyone,” Brian tells him. After a moment, he picks up the lyrics from where Roger had strewn them and scans the marked-up pages again, attention landing on the phrase his friend had mentioned earlier. “‘A disease,’ you wrote here,” he murmurs. His eyes find his friend’s face. “You don’t truly believe you’re ill?”

    “I don’t know what I believe,” Roger says in a whisper. He pushes his fingers into his hair. “I’m fucking lost, Bri'.” He looks it, and Brian suddenly feels like a complete asshole.

    “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Roger,” he says for the second time, but he means it more this time around. “How could I’ve known this song meant… I didn’t. I apologise, really.”

    “It’s alright, you twat,” Roger mumbles. He manages a small smile Brian’s way. “I don’t think Fred’ll care much, eh? And Deaky…”

    “They won’t give a shit,” Brian assures him. “No. And as for me, I couldn’t care less. You’re as you’ve ever been: Roger Taylor, the biggest prick England’s ever seen, drummer to Queen.”

    “Oi.”

    Brian’s chest warms at Roger’s broadening grin. “There he is. Now come on,” he says, pushing up to his feet. He offers Roger a hand. “We’ve got work to do in the studio. Who knows what the other two’ve gotten up to?”

    “Reckon they fit in a quick one-two shag, eh, Bri'?”

    “A comedian, we’ve got here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I dead-ass wrote this in like ten minutes because honestly I can't believe that Roger wrote that song and it isn't supposed to be a gay euphemism?? And that scene in BohRhap is Iconic. That's all. I don't own the dialogue I used from that scene; obviously all rights go to the rightful owners in that regard. All I own are my original thoughts. Thanks fam


End file.
